Merlin

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  Here it begins, I thought; here is where the winning of Britain begins…Now, this night.

  5

  Uther awakened the camp early. We broke fast and pulled on our battledress in the dark, and then moved into position. Now we sat on horseback on the crest of the hill above the ford, awaiting the sunrise. Across the sleepy Nene the Saecsen warhost assembled: ten thousand strong, moving inexorably down the opposite slopes like the shadow of a mighty cloud on a sunny day. But it was no shadow darkening the land. Great Light, there were too many of them!

  Hengist had indeed grown strong; he must have been building his forces throughout the long summer, swelling his warhost with Saecsens from home. And not Saecsen only. There were Angles, Jutes, Frisians, Picti, of course, and Irish Scotti as well. All had answered Hengist’s summons to the husting.

  In contrast, our own troops appeared to have dwindled away since the night before, when they had seemed as numerous as the starry host itself. Uther’s scouts had told the truth: they were five to our one.

  “Lleu and Zeus!” swore Uther when he saw them. “Where can they have come from?”

  “Never mind,” I told him. “It is where they are going that matters.”

  “Well said, Merlin,” answered Aurelius. “Today we send them to meet their ill-famed Woden—and let them explain to him why they were bested by so few Britons!”

  Aurelius and Uther then fell to discussing the battle plan for a moment, but as everything was in readiness and all had been said before, there was little more to do. Uther saluted his brother and moved off to take his place at the head of his troops. “Pray to your Lord Jesu, Merlin; I am certain he will hear you and grant us the victory today,” Uther called after him.

  This was the first interest in Jesu that Uther had ever exhibited, if interest it was. I answered him, “My Lord hears your voice, Uther, and stands ready to aid all who call upon him—even now!”

  “So be it!” came the reply. Uther snapped the reins, and the horse trotted off.

  The Britons were to advance slowly to the river and wait for the enemy to come across. We did not care to fight with our backs to the water, although taking the enemy midway in the stream might offer a slight advantage—if we could keep the battleline stretched out. The danger in this was that once through the line, the barbarian could swarm around our flanks and gain the high ground behind us.

  To keep that from happening, Uther determined to hold a third of the warhost back, to reinforce the flanks if the Saecsens began to overwhelm them. Aurelius would lead this rear guard, and I, as was my custom, would ride beside him. Pelleas rode beside me, stalwart and grim. Together we had determined to protect the High King, come what may.

  Aurelius commanded the remnant of Hoel’s men who had not returned to their lord. With us was Gorlas, who, next to Tewdrig, possessed the largest mounted warband.

  At Uther’s command, the foremost line started forward, horses and men together. At the last moment, when the two armies closed on one another, the horsemen would whip their mounts to speed, meeting the first wave of foemen with the lightning of steel and the thunder of pounding hooves.

  Our warriors started down the long slope. As expected, the enemy started forward as well—some even reached the riverbank and leaped into the water. But Hengist had foreseen the folly of this type of attack and corrected it before committing himself to an indefensible position. The Saecsen line halted on their own side of the river and waited, raising a great cry of challenge to us.

  I could hear their taunts from where I sat. Aurelius jerked the reins back and forth, causing his horse to toss its head and snort. “Where did they learn that trick?” he wondered aloud, then looked at me. “What will Uther do now?”

  We did not have to wait long for the answer, for speeding toward us came a messenger, who reined up with a sharp salute. “Lord Uther asks that you join him on the field at once.” The excitement in his voice made it quiver.

  “Very well,” replied Aurelius. “Anything else?”

  “Hold the center, said the messenger, repeating his commander’s words.

  “Hold the center? That is all?”

  The messenger nodded once, wheeled his horse, and sped back to join his commander.

  Aurelius signaled Gorlas to follow, and we started down the hill to the river. At first we did not see what our battlechief intended—perhaps Hengist would not guess either! But as we came up behind Uther, the whole front rank, all horsemen, swung out and rode quickly upstream leaving the footmen behind. We moved in to fill the gap Uther left, and to wait.

  Hengist greeted this change in the battle array with long blasts on the great Saecsen war horns—those blood-chilling harbingers of doom. The din along the riverbank was deafening.

  The Picti danced their defiance and struck out at easy targets with their evil arrows; Jutes and Frisians banged their spears against their hide-covered shields; Scotti, naked, hair limed and pulled into spiked crowns, their bodies stained with woad, wailed their air-splitting battlesongs; all the while, Saecsen berserkers howled and slapped each other until their flesh was red and insensitive to pain. Everywhere I looked I saw wild gyrating barbarians, screaming and gnashing their teeth, dashing into the water now and again, taunting, always taunting.

  Some few among the High King’s warriors had never seen Saecsens before, and were as unprepared for the unholy sight as for the horrendous sound beating in their brains. This display is calculated to unnerve those who must face it, and it accomplishes its aim admirably. If not for the steadying influence of the battle-seasoned in our ranks, I fear many would have broken and run long before the first blow was struck. As it was, we waited, growing impatient and fearful.

  It is never good to keep men waiting to go into battle: doubt gnaws holes in even the strongest resolve, and courage leaks away. But there was no help for it—Uther needed time to take up his new position. So we waited.

  Uther’s force had disappeared into the brush at the river’s edge to the north. This maneuver had not gone unnoticed by Hengist, who had moved a portion of his host upriver to meet them. There we stood, face to face with the enemy, neither one of us wanting to cross the stream and thereby give the other an advantage.

  It occurred to me to wonder how Uther would cross the water since there was, as far as I knew, only the one fording place along this section of the river. I leaned close to Aurelius, but before I had time to put words to this misgiving there came a cry from the opposite shore. “Here they come!” cried Aurelius. “God in heaven, help us!”

  Hengist, having time to assess his position, had decided that Uther’s absence more than made up for the disadvantage of fighting with his back to the water, and had signaled the attack—though with the hideous din, how any of them could have heard the signal I will never know.

  They came in a swarm: chaos in motion. The sight of the churning mass rolling toward us caused the front rank to draw back involuntarily. “Steady!” called Aurelius to his chieftains; his command was repeated along the line.

  The first enemy reached the shallows, to be met by the surge of our own troops. So determined was the foremost rank that the Saecsen should not come ashore that they halted the enemy rush and forced it back upon itself. The enemy screamed in rage.

  From the first blow the battle was hot—so much pent-up fury nursed through the long summer kindled it to white heat instantly. Men stood in water to their thighs and hewed at one another with axe and sword. The world was filled with the shattering sound of steel on steel. The Nene swirled around the combatants, its sluggish grey-silted waters blushing crimson.

  Only determination kept our smaller force from being overwhelmed outright. That, and the horses, which the barbarians feared—and with good reason, since a good horse is as much a warrior on the field as his rider, and has fearsome weapons of its own.

  Nevertheless, little by little, the superior numbers of the foe began to tell. Once the first wind of battle passed and the combatants settled into
fighting rhythm, Hengist succeeded in pushing out around our flanks, and Aurelius was forced to steal men from the center to keep the enemy from closing behind and surrounding us entirely.

  “Uther must join us soon, or come to bury us,” the High King said grimly, drawing his sword from its sheath. “We cannot hold the center much longer without the aid of his horsemen.”

  My sword was already in my hand. I lofted it, saying, “My king, the day is ours! Let us go and wrest it from that heathen prince, and teach him the sting of British wrath.”

  Aurelius smiled. “I believe you mean it, Merlin.”

  “Only a fool jests on a field of battle.”

  “Then let us begin the lesson,” replied Aurelius, spurring his mount into the fray.

  As I say, the center had been thinned and was in danger of caving in under the barbarian onslaught. So that is where Aurelius struck first, heedless of his own safety.

  Uther would have been furious with him, for Uther had taken to protecting his brother, striving to keep Aurelius out of all but the most necessary conflict, saying, “I have fought too many battles to make him High King for him to get himself killed now.”

  You see, Aurelius had no sense of danger. He could not weigh one risk against another; and this caused him to do things in battle which, counted as courageous in certain situations, became foolhardy in others. Uther knew this about his brother and protected him from it as much as he could.

  But Uther was not there and Aurelius saw the need and instinctively went to it, throwing himself into the breach. I have never seen a man so gloriously innocent in battle. It was a joy to watch him fight. And a terror.

  A terror, for it fell to me to protect him, and this was no easy task. Aurelius risked enough for two men, and I had my hands full just trying to keep up with him. I did not fear for myself; that never occurred to me. I did fear for Aurelius, however; because, as Uther had suggested, we had endured hardship enough to make Aurelius High King, and I was not about to have him throw it all away in a foolish act—no matter how glorious!

  So we fought side by side, my king and I. We were like men joined shoulder to shoulder at birth, matching blade-stroke for bladestroke. The enemy fell before us, and our own warriors, seeing their king wading into the thick of the fight, drew courage from the sight and redoubled their efforts. Even so, we could not help giving ground to the barbarian.

  With every push, the enemy gained and we lost. We were the shore and they were the storm wave battering against us, dragging us grain by grain and stone by stone into the foaming maelstrom. I felt each successive blast in my bones. And I waited for the shock of the fight to send me into the curiously distorted frenzy that had become familiar to me in battle.

  But it did not happen.

  It came to me that I had not entered into this heightened state, this battle awen, since Goddeu. I had taken no great part in the battles for Aurelius’ kingship. In truth, I had not unsheathed my blade until this day; there had been no need.

  I needed it now, however, and now I fought as any other warrior and I found myself wishing for my old sword, against which all other blades shattered as if made of glass—the great sword of Avallach which Charis had given me years ago. What had happened to it?

  Had it, like so much else, been lost at Goddeu?

  Fool! I had no time to dwell on these things. Keeping myself and Aurelius alive occupied my mind and skill—all the more since the High King would take no thought for himself.

  We were now pushed far back from the river—it was either give ground or allow Hengist to surround us—and each blow of the enemy drove us further back. The fight had been carried away from the Nene, although Angle, Jute, Pict, and Irish still swarmed across. Incredibly, the main body of Hengist’s host still remained on the other side!

  We would soon be crushed by the weight of their numbers alone.

  Where was Uther?

  Great Light, I prayed with every breath, if you mean to save us today, let it be now!

  We fought, grimly hacking at the foe before us. Not a man among us could swing his blade without wounding an enemy. Yet, we were losing ground quickly now as more and more of the barbarians pushed across the river. One band and then another, and another, and still more succeeded in getting around our flanks. We were now almost surrounded and were being forced into a circle; the death circle, warriors call it, for once adopted there is only one outcome of this maneuver.

  Where was Uther?

  The Saecsen horde, seeing us apparently deserted by our allies, screamed their blood lust to their loathsome gods, calling on Woden and Tiw and Thunor to maim and slay and destroy. Eager to make British blood the sacrifice, they leapt slavering to the fight.

  I slashed at every bit of exposed barbarian flesh that offered itself. I worked as the harvester labors before the lowering storm. I reaped a vast harvest, but took no pleasure in my mowing. Men fell beneath my streaming blade or beneath my mount’s brain-spattered hooves. I saw men contemplating severed limbs; I saw brave warriors weeping into their death-wounds. I saw faces, sun-bronzed and fair, with eyes the color of winter ice, once whole and handsome, now twisted in unreasoning agony, or broken and bloody in death.

  But no matter how many I slew, more crowded in—clutching, thrusting, grappling, hewing with notched and ragged blades. One great chieftain loosed an ear-splitting scream and leapt onto the neck of my horse; he clung there with one arm, flailing at me with his war axe.

  I flung myself backward in the saddle. His blood-stained blade sliced the air where my head had been, and I thrust with the point of my sword, catching him just under the line of his ribs. He roared and dropped his axe, then grabbed the sword with his hands and held it as he fell, seeking to pull me from the saddle with him. My sword was dragged down by his weight and one of his comrades, crazy for the kill, lofted his axe to cleave my skull.

  I saw the blade hover in the air. Then the wrist spouted blood and the axe spun awkwardly away. Pelleas, ever alert to my danger, had reached me; and it was not the first time his sword had delivered me. “Stay with the king!” I shouted, jerking my sword free at last. Pelleas turned and darted after Aurelius, who was charging on ahead, bodies toppling behind him.

  The Britons strove mightily against the foe. Never were men more courageous in going to their doom…but there was nothing we could do. Though we slew one, four more arose to take the place of the one; though we slew a thousand, five thousand more remained. Meanwhile, our brave companions were falling beneath the relentless slaughter.

  We were completely surrounded now. Aurelius sounded the call to circle the troops. This is the beginning of the end for any army. Knowing this, hating it, we rallied. I do not know where the strength came from, but with prayers and curses and with broken weapons in our hands we forced the screaming berserkers back once more.

  This angered Hengist, who committed the rest of his vast warhost against us—all save his House Carles, his own personal bodyguard made up of the strongest, most formidable of all the Saecsen warriors. Aside from these, every last warrior was pressed into the fight. He intended destroying us utterly.

  Across the river they came, streaming toward us, their faces tight with the ecstacy of hatred. We were slowly being crushed by the steady advance of the enemy. The heads of our countrymen now adorned the long spears of the foemen. Smoke from burning corpses began to drift into the air. So, Hengist reckoned that he had won already.

  But he reckoned falsely, for the battle was not over yet.

  Aurelius saw it first. “Utha!” he cried. “Uther has taken Hengist!”

  How he saw this, busy as we both were, I cannot say. But I lifted my eyes and scanned the hillside opposite—the tide of battle had carried us back up the hill where we had begun—and I saw a force of mounted men surrounding Hengist’s horsetail standard, and the fight there seemed over. The rest of Uther’s force was galloping across the river to cut off the enemy rushing to their leader’s aid.

  I do not know wh
en Hengist realized his mistake, but it must have struck him like a cold blade between the ribs when he turned defenseless to see Uther swooping down on him from behind.

  For our part, we sensed the sudden shift in the battle just as the enemy was about to overwhelm us. We braced for the final thrust, and then, inexplicably, fell forward as the enemy melted away.

  Just like that, all at once, the weight of the battle fell from us like a wall crumbling inward upon itself after leaning outward for so long. Aurelius wasted not a moment. He wheeled his horse, snatching up the royal standard, and, waving the proud Eagle above his head, mounted the attack.

  Great Light, we are saved!

  Aurelius retaliated quickly and without mercy. Instantly the remaining horsemen gathered to him, and they rode down the enemy from behind.

  There is no honor in slaughtering a fleeing foe—only grim expedience. It had to be done.

  Caught between the two forces, the barbarians found themselves waist-deep in the Nene, unable to advance or fall back. Confusion seized them and shook them like a dog shaking a rat. Chaos closed its fist around them, and they gave in to it. Hengist was securely held; those of his bodyguard still alive were bound, as he was, and disarmed.

  It is a curious thing with the barbarian, but capture a war leader and the fight quickly goes out of them. Let him be killed, and they will go on fighting for the honor of accompanying their lord into Valhalla; let their battlechief fall prisoner and they become confounded and dismayed and are easily overcome.

  It is as if theirs is a single mind, a single will—that of their leader. And without him they fall instantly into panic and despair.

  Therefore, despite superior numbers, despite the awful fact that our main force was well and truly beaten, once Uther held the blade to Hengist’s throat, the Briton had prevailed.

  * * *

  The battle continued only in isolated enclaves, mostly Pict and Irish whose chieftains still lived to lead them. These were quickly put down. Would that the Saecsen had behaved that way, for now Uther was left with the odious task of dealing with the prisoners.